The Younger Adler
by Creatively Destructive
Summary: Elena, a young and charming poet, moves to London which she insists is full of magic and adventure. She doesn't realize just how much until she moves next to the world's only consulting detective. Like fire and ice they clash from the very beginning, but for some reason, lost on each of them, they can't stay away and neither of them will admit they don't want to.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

A/N: Okay I am totally obsessed with Sherlock on BBC and I think Benedict Cumberbatch makes one incredibly sexy and amazing Sherlock Holmes. This story takes place 3 years after his fake suicide attempt. He's back living with Watson and things are basically back to normal but definitely not the same.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything besides my original characters.

It's been so long since I've been in London, five years at least, and now I'm moving to the heart of it. It'll be the first time living on my own and it's exciting and nerve-wracking all at once. I'm almost positive that the city is going to swallow me whole, but I'll embrace it like every other adventure in life. My emotions are crazy and changing so fast they're giving me whiplash. Not so great for my state of mind but amazing for my writing.

My parents are English diplomats, which is funny since we're rarely in Great Britain. I've spent most of my childhood traveling Europe spending summers in Spain or Italy and winters in Germany or France. It was truly remarkable and I'm extraordinarily fortunate for all the opportunities it provided me with, but it wasn't all fun and games. My parents are extremely posh and practically ooze snobbery which means I was raised mostly by my many nannies and tutors. I know how to ride a horse, play polo, fence, read and speak multiple languages, play the piano and violin, and even went to finishing school. They've always had extremely high expectations for me which is why they were less than pleased when I dropped out of Harvard at the ripe age of 19.

I spent a year there studying hard and following my parents' wishes, but I wasn't happy. Despite the prestigious university reminding me of Hogwarts there was no magic or joy there. Everyone walked around with a giant stick shoved up their arse and were the rudest bunch of people I've ever encountered. If someone ever needs an example of "dog eat dog" then they just need a short trip there and they understand the meaning within minutes. My parents through a complete fit when I told them I dropped out and decided to travel instead.

I wanted to see the world not from the eyes of a diplomat's daughter, but that of a wide eyed dreamer. I wanted to backpack through the cities and stay in random holes in the walls. To work odd jobs to support myself. Find magic and witness dreams come true. I wanted to meet interesting and unique people and go to places that people only see in movies. It was extremely hard at times and there were moments where all I wanted to do was call my parents and apologize crying. I never did call my parents though, I bucked up and made through whatever crisis I was going through at the moment. I spent two years traveling, one in the states (including bits of Canada and South America) and then the other back in Europe and Asia.

At first I didn't know why I was traveling, but along the way I found the reason. I'm adopted and have no idea who my biological parents are. I never really wanted to know because I love my adoptive parents and they love me, in their own way. Despite that though I longed to know who I was and while searching for my biological parents I actually found myself. A few weeks into the trip I came across a small community of street artists and they changed my world. I can't draw to save my life, but through them I found a passion in poetry. I realize that when words failed others they came to me like long forgotten friends. I saw everything in a new light as if my eyes were finally opening after years of sleep.

In that moment I decided that I was going to write for a living. Whether people enjoyed my work was of no importance to me because I enjoyed creating my work. Fortunately it turned out that people did appreciate my work, immensely so, and I became rising star in the literary world. Despite my growing popularity and increasing royalties I retained a low profile and went under the pseudonym "The Poet". I didn't write to be famous or rich, but because I love it and wanted other people to read one of my pieces and be able to relate somehow. My parents disapproved at first, but relented when they saw how passionate I was about it. Plus it didn't hurt that I was becoming more and more widespread with each published piece.

Now at the age of 21 I am moving to the heart of London where I'll live for who knows how long. There's just something about this city that calls out to me. I'm sure I'll find inspiration and adventure here. I can feel it in my bones and I can't wait.

"Where to Miss?" The cabbie asks tearing me out of my reflective thoughts. I smile looking out the window surveying the beautiful city before me.

"221B Baker Street please."


	2. Chapter 2: Meet the Neighbors

Disclaimer: I do not own anything besides my original characters.

A/N: Thank you everyone who has written reviews! I really appreciate all the help I can get! Also thank you for everyone reading this! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! On to the story, haha!

"Thank you," I say handing the cabbie some bills. Probably giving him a huge tip the way his eyes widen and he smiles blindingly. He rushes out of his seat and around the car opening my door for me before I can even touch the handle. I smile amused covering a giggle with a fake cough. He practically does backflips trying to get my luggage out of his trunk.

"There you go Miss," he exclaims once I'm all settled. I smile thankfully and he blinks dumbly at me like in a daze. I carefully wave my hand in front of his face confused, and that seems to snap him out of whatever. "Have a great day beautiful kind lady," he says shaking my hand with both of his. I laugh flushing slightly and wave after him when he zooms off in search for his next fare.

I take a deep breath and face the apartment building feeling nerves wash over me. I nibble on my bottom lip for a second, but force myself to walk forward. I stare at the black door and knock before I chicken out. I take a small step back keeping my suitcases close to me. I run a hand through my dark chestnut brown hair anxiously. A few more moments later door opens revealing a sweet looking older woman. She looks at me confused for a moment, but then recognition dawns on her face making her smile. I relax and smile back feeling silly for being so nervous.

"Hello, you must be Elena," she says taking one of my suitcases before I can protest. "Don't bother Sweetie, my name is Mrs. Hudson."

"It's so nice to meet you," I reply lugging my other suitcases behind me. We head inside and I look around loving the feel of this place. I notice a flight of stairs and stare at them inquisitively.

"Oh, that leads to Sherlock and Watson's place," Mrs. Hudson says with a dismissive flick of her hand. I nod wondering if I'll finally have my dreams come true and have a gay guy best friend. Smiling at that thought I turn my attention back to her. "I live right here if you need anything," she says pointing at a door a little ways down the hall.

"Okay, thank you again for getting everything ready on such short notice," I express gratefully.

Moving here was an impulsive decision, and once I got in touch with Mrs. Hudson she took care of everything. My things were sent here from my last location and she sorted them out. It wasn't much really, just a few trinkets, loads of books, paintings, and just sentimental things I couldn't leave without.

When I move, which I do a lot of, I normally just sell the place with the furniture. It's convenient and provides me more spending money on my next place. Like I said before, I don't stay in one place too long and don't like carrying things with me. I'm the person who lives in the now so I don't dwell on the past or fret about the future. My mother says it's because I have a free spirit and don't like to be contained to one spot. Makes sense being a traveling poet and all.

"Of course, it was no trouble at all," she replies ushering me to another door. "I'm actually surprised you wanted this place. It's so hard to sell being a basement in London," she explains while unlocking the door.

"I don't mind, it's a new experience so I'm up for the challenge," I say smiling warmly. She pauses for a moment and I wonder if I said something out of turn. She glances at me and smiles amused confusing me.

"Then you'll like someone I know," she clarifies making me nod in understanding. "He's actually one of the tenants upstairs," she says peaking my curiosity once more.

"Oh, what are they like?" I ask my curiosity overpowering my desire to be polite. She sends me a small knowing smile making me smile sheepishly at my nosiness.

"Sherlock, well…he's a peculiar one, you'll hear him playing his violin at all times of the night, and he is easily bored and finds most things and people mundane. Watson, his colleague is another character all together. He's a war doctor so he's incredibly bright, but he's also very kind and compassionate. Has more patience than God himself, has to with Sherlock as a flat mate," Mrs. Hudson says revealing more than I thought she would. I look back at the staircase wondering if I'll ever run into them or maybe I should introduce myself.

We walk down the stairs to my flat and I can tell why this must be a hard sell. It's cold and damp in here, there's no windows, the paint is chipping, and there's a musky odor floating around, but I see the potential so I'm not swayed in my decision. She looks at me expectantly and I smile walking over to my boxes scattered around the living room. I turn to her and nod in approval making her sigh in relief. I walk over and gently shake her hand sealing the deal.

"It's perfect really," I insist glancing around already decorating in my mind. "Is it alright if I paint the walls?"

"Do whatever you like, within reason of course," she says handing me the key to my new home. I think about what she would consider within reason, but decide not to push my luck by asking.

"Thank you again Mrs. Hudson," I say grinning appreciatively. She smiles that warm smiles of hers and waves her hand dismissively.

"Nonsense Sweetie," she pauses for a moment and looks almost unsure. Before I can ask her what's wrong she continues speaking, "would you like to have a cuppa with me around noon? The boys are always so busy, and I would love some girl time." I internally go 'awe' at her proposal and can't help but feel so warm and welcomed.

"I would love that," I reply making her smile widely. She pats my cheek gently reminding me of my favorite nanny for a moment, and then retreats up the stairs.

I stare at my empty flat having no idea where to start, but then I get a wave on inspiration. I push everything towards the center of the room leaving nothing near the walls. I look around trying to decide what color would look good, but decide that I better head out and get the furniture first. I don't know how many moves it took me to figure that little tip out. Brains of a poet, common sense of a three year old.

I slip on my favorite red coat with black buttons. It goes great with my outfit. Dark skinny jeans tucked into black flat designer boots, perfect for London rain. Then a simple black long sleeve V-neck. I wrap a black scarf around my neck and grab my designer coach purse. Hey, I did the whole struggling artist thing, but now I like to enjoy the fruits of my labor. And by fruits I mean clothes, books, art, wine, and other luxuries. I know I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, but now I live off whatever I make. Pretty grown up if I do say so myself. Especially being a 21 year old college dropout.

I double check making sure I have my phone, wallet, and keys before heading up the stairs. So focused on trying to figure out what color paint to use I don't see the man in front of me until I bump into him. I look up embarrassed and smile apologetically. He's not very tall, but I'm pushing 5'3 so he's taller than me by a few good inches. He has sandy blonde hair and a slightly tanned complexion. His puppy dog eyes are brown and have crinkles at the edge giving the impression he laughs a lot. His features are handsome and kind. He gently grabs my arm steadying me and I wonder if this is Sherlock or Watson.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," I apologize running a hand through my hair nervously. He smiles and shakes his head.

"Neither was I. I'm John Watson," he says introducing himself and answering my question all in one. I smile and shake his hand pleased to meet one of my neighbors.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Watson. My name is Elena Adler, I just moved in next door," I say motioning to the door I just came from. His grip on my hand tightens and he looks at me stunned, and if I'm correct…suspiciously.

"I'm sorry, did you say Adler?" He asks staring at me in disbelief.

"Yes, Elena Adler," I repeat subtly trying to pull away my hand. He seems to notice and lets go looking apologetic and surprised. "Do I know you?" I ask apprehensively. From his reaction I wouldn't be surprised if he thinks I killed his dog or something.

"No, I don't think you do. I'm sorry, my mistake," he says returning back to the friendly man from before. I smile weakly and nod thinking that if this is what normal is for Mrs. Hudson I can't imagine how strange Sherlock must be.

"It's fine, but I should be going. I have to meet Mrs. Hudson for brunch and I don't want to be late," I say excusing myself. He nods and waves as I leave. I look over my shoulder at the apartment building unsettled, but then brush it off and hail a taxi.

Watson's POV

"What are you doing standing here? I told you to grab us a taxi," Sherlock says briskly walking pass me. I follow him out unable to find my words. Elena Adler. Can she be related to Irene? They looked nothing alike and she didn't seem to know me. Maybe I'm just over thinking this. Adler is no doubt a common surname. Yes, it's just a coincidence. Then why can I shake the feeling that I'm onto something?

"Sorry, what?" I say making him look at me intrigued. Oh no. Once Sherlock finds something interesting he'll stop at nothing to solve the mystery. "It's nothing. I just met our new neighbor," I explain before he can psychoanalyze me.

"Dull," he drawls already bored with the situation. I roll my eyes and look out the window watching at London rushes by.

He wouldn't say that if he knew what she looked like. She was nothing less than gorgeous. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves and let off the distinct scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Her eyes were breathtaking, I've never seen eyes that green before. Pools of liquid emerald really. Her smile is another story all together, can light up a room with it I bet. She was small and petite, but even through her layers of clothing I can tell she must have an amazing body. She looked young though, couldn't be more than 20.

"What?" I ask glancing at him distracted. He scowls at me for not paying attention to whatever he was saying. He's one to talk. I'm not the one who has conversations with him even after he leaves, and then expect him to know what we discussed.

"Don't start," he orders shaking his head unimpressed. I look at him confused which makes him frown even more bothered. "Don't start falling for her. You have the stupid look on your face, the look you get when you went out with that doctor, then that teacher, and then the other one," he explains pulling out his cellphone. I scoff at his accusation, and stare out the window in a pathetic attempt to hide my flushed cheeks.

"Where are we going?" I ask bringing his attention back to the case and away from my so called infatuation with our new neighbor. He smirks seeing right through me…like always.

"The latest in a string of homicides," he says unable to contain the glee in his voice.

Normal POV

I spend my morning scoping out the furniture stores. I almost give up a half hour in when I can't find anything that grabs my attention. I've never had the patience to shop. On my way to grab a coffee I pass by a small hole in the wall shop. Curious I walk in and fall in love. It has everything I want and is run by the cutest little old man.

He tells me that it's a family business and that his great grandfather opened it after escaping the Holocaust. The man is running it for now, but is retiring soon and leaving it to his daughter. She's in uni and he couldn't be prouder. I don't know what it is about me that just makes people open up like books, but I don't mind. It's so interesting hearing people's stories, what they've gone through and overcome. Inspiring really.

He gives me a huge discount on everything which I try to explain I don't need, but he won't hear of it. What is up with these Londoners? First the cabbie, then Mrs. Hudson, and now this guy…a girl can spoiled with all this nice attention. Which is why I buy everything I need here plus I don't think any other place can compare to his shop. It really has a little bit of everything. I focus on finding things for the bedroom and kitchen which are the prominent part of the flat.

Overall my trip is extremely successful and I plan on going back to that shop for the bathroom and his collection of books later on. The kind older man even tells me that everything I bought will be delivered on my request. The only thing I do bring home is the paint which I need to start on as soon as possible. With the furnishing I picked out I decide to get a creamy tan color. After finalizing everything I excuse myself needing to leave or else I'm going to be late for brunch with Mrs. Hudson. I knock on her door exactly at noon a bit breathless from hurrying back. She opens the door and smiles quickly letting me in. I smile looking around her place which is simple but elegant. Warm and comforting, but at the same time classic. Much like herself.

"How did the shopping go?" She inquires while walking over carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. My mouth waters at the sight of food reminding me that I've yet to eat. I resist the urge to turn into a black hole and devour everything in sight.

"I found this adorable little shop and surprisingly it had everything I was looking for," I say before taking a sip of tea. Warm and spicy. Just the way I like it.

"That's good then," she says smiling. "Have you decided on the color scheme?"

"I'm sticking to varying shades of brown and cream," I tell her reaching for my first biscuit. I resist the urge to moan as I bite into it. Clearly freshly made. Despite my desire to hold back a moan, an extremely embarrassing habit of mine when I eat delicious food, my stomach lets out an angry growl making me blush embarrassed.

"Oh my! Have you not eaten? You're already skin and bones Sweetie," she scolds rushing off to the kitchen. I glare at my stomach accusingly and follow after her.

"Mrs. Hudson, please you don't have to make me anything," I say watching her scurry around the kitchen.

"Nonsense, I swear you are as bad as Sherlock. He goes days on end without eating or catching a wink of sleep. It's just not proper," she vents worriedly. I walk over towards her and offer my assistance knowing if I can't beat her I might as well join her.

"Nonsense, I would love to help," I say teasing her on using her favorite word. She smiles and swats my hand gently making me laugh.

"Don't sass me Sweetie," she scolds but her lips twirk up trying not to form a smile. "Well, if you insist then why don't you make the salad?"

"Aye, aye captain," I say with a joking salute internally flinching at how nerdy I am. Yes on top of being a bookworm I am also a Trekkie. I walk over to the kitchen's island where the ingredients are already set up. While making the salad with the works (olives, onions, broccoli, cheese, tomatoes, and so on) I start humming softly.

"That's a lovely lullaby," Mrs. Hudson comments absentmindedly. I glance at her about to apologize, but she's smiling and swaying slightly with the slow tune. I continue humming thinking about my mother who sang to me every night up until I was a teen, and even then she would sneak into my room while she thought I slept.

"Thank you," I reply quietly while thinking back to my favorite childhood nanny.

She who would sing me to sleep almost every night and I often caught her humming while doing chores. She was so beautiful I thought she was a princess in disguise. She was very kind to me and didn't mind me tagging along with her. She always took really great care of me, but never babied me like my other nannies. She told me that little girls have to grow up strong so they can save themselves from the dragons in life. She was so young but taught me so much. I feel a small smile grace my face as I remember the times I had with her. Irene was my guardian angel.

"Why doesn't that look delicious?" Mrs. Hudson praises while successfully pulling me out of my melancholy thoughts. I look down at the salad which does look extremely appetizing. "It's so pretty with all the different colored ingredients combined like that," she comments impressed.

"I have a small obsession with cooking and baking," I mumble flushing embarrassed under her praise. She smiles and motions me over to the stove where pasta noodles are boiling.

"Well, then would you like to make the sauce?" She asks directing my attention to an impressive amount of ingredients that I could use. I smile feeling my eyes light up at the challenge. It's been so long since I've made homemade pasta sauce.

"I would love to," I say getting right to work. I'm thinking an Alfredo base with some tweaks of my own. Maybe a bit of garlic and chili. Just a smidge though. But then maybe I should go with a more traditional and classic recipe. So many possibilities. I get so caught up in which one to pick I almost miss Mrs. Hudson laughing quietly at me while putting the salad into the fridge.

While we continue to cook we get to know a bit about each other. She discovers that I'm a gigantic bookworm and that I am an avid collector. I learn that her guilty pleasure is watching soaps on the telly, especially the late night ones. I share some information about my parents, focusing less on their careers and more on vacations and holidays. She tells me that her husband was executed in a Florida prison and I couldn't help but giggle at how excited she was while replaying the moment she found out. Such a strange thing to be excited about, but I assume there's a more personal reason behind her glee. It also gets me really curious about Sherlock Holmes, she talks very highly of him. When she's not cursing his very existence. I don't know how but she manages conning me into telling her what I do for a living. I keep my pseudonym to myself, and she doesn't pry but instead repeatedly asks me to recite poetry from heart. Being a poet and bookworm I'm able to endlessly please her. Which in return makes me happy.

"Maybe we can convince the boys upstairs to come down for a late lunch," she says looking at all the food set on the table. It's a good idea considering there's no way we'd be able to eat this all by ourselves. I'm a bit nervous about meeting Sherlock Holmes from all the stories she's told me about John's girlfriends fleeing because of him. Like I said before I love a challenge.

"Yeah, that sounds great," I say trying to hide my excitement. She touches my shoulder squeezing gently before rushing out and up the stairs. I take this moment to double check the table making sure everything looks perfect. Irene always said that the way to a man is through his stomach. Okay, so I don't want to get with them or anything, but I want them to at least like me a little. Otherwise being neighbors and sharing Mrs. Hudson is going to be a little awkward.

After what feels like forever the front door opens and chatter fills the air. I hear the familiar voice of Mrs. Hudson and I can make out Watson's voice as well. I almost think it's just the two of them when a deep baritone enters the mix. Soon enough they enter the room, and the chatter dies down when they see me. Awkward. Ignoring the uncomfortable silence I force a smile unto my face and step forward to greet them.

"Hello again Mr. Watson," I say shaking his hand politely. I push away the memory of our earlier encounter knowing it would only make me psychoanalyze him throughout dinner. He smiles and shakes my hand this time without incident. I turn to the taller man standing next to him wearing a nice suit and bored expression. "Hello, my name is Elena Adler and I just moved in next to you," I say introducing myself.

His bored expression quickly vanishes and he looks at me sharply. His beautiful but calculating ice blue eyes roam over me as if trying to solve a puzzle. I tilt my head curiously at him wondering what his and his boyfriend's deal is. Then again neither of them give off the gay vibe which means they're probably just friends. Lame. I take the time he's scoping me out to do the same to him.

He's practically the polar opposite of John. This man is extremely tall towering over me by a little less than a foot putting him around six feet. He's extremely pale, which isn't unusual for Londoners, which means John must have spent some time abroad. Probably for work since his tan doesn't reach below his collar. I remember Mrs. Hudson saying he's an army doctor so he must have been discharged through an injury of some kind. Probably stationed in Afghanistan before.

The strange man has cold and sharp features, cheekbones I could cut myself on. His lips are small and pink and don't do much for softening his features. His hair is most curious though. A shaggy mop of curls too long to be an office man and too short to be anything involving art and music. He's a bit thin, but I can easily tell he's toned under that exquisite suit of his with the way his white dress shirt hugs his chest. Overall he's a very handsome man, not in the stereotypical way, but extremely handsome nonetheless.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson pipes in shaking him out of his, no doubt, analysis of me. He glances at her distractedly before turning back to me.

"Miss Adler, my name is Sherlock Holmes," he states not offering his hand to shake. I don't offer mine either. We stare at each other for a moment longer and I get the distinct impression he's seeing someone else when he's looking at me. Someone he was either fond of or someone who betrayed him. Most likely both.

"It's pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes," I lie smiling.

"The pleasure is mine," he lies back.

We all sit down at the table and I have the infortune of sitting right across from Sherlock. With John on my left and Mrs. Hudson on my right, I childishly thought of them as my reinforcements against Sherlock. Instead of dwelling on the tense silence I look over the meal unable to help but feel impressed with Mrs. Hudson and I's work.

There's a medium bowl full of steaming pasta, I decided on the lightly spicy Alfredo sauce. Then a large bowl of cool crisp salad with a sweet Italian dressing to balance the spices from the pasta. A plate of freshly made biscuits with sweet sour butter on the side as an option. All different flavors, but they'll come together nicely. While Mrs. Hudson was grabbing plates and silverware I snuck away and managed to snag one of my favorite red wines.

"This looks amazing Mrs. Hudson," John says breaking the silence. She smiles and shakes her head while reaching out to squeeze my hand.

"You'll have to thank Elena here. She did most of the work," she explains turning both Watson's and Holmes' attention towards me.

"It was nothing," I deflect smiling coyly. The men glance at each other for a moment before they begin serving themselves. Out of nowhere Mrs. Hudson swoops in and swats Holmes' hand tisking disapprovingly.

"Where are your manners Sherlock?" She scolds making John snicker at Sherlock's incredulous expression.

"Miss Adler, the meal looks aesthetically agreeable to the eye," he comments failing to mask his annoyance. "We shall see whether its appearance is the only thing pleasing about it," he continues and I have a strong feeling we aren't talking about the food anymore. Mrs. Hudson and John scoff while serving themselves, but I keep my eyes locked on Sherlock. He's such a puzzle and unfortunately for him I love puzzles.

"Aren't you going to serve yourself?" John asks breaking my concentration. I turn to him confused for a moment before realizing what he said.

"Oh, I was just waiting for you all to be served first," I explain reaching for the salad bowl. He looks at me curiously and I hope he doesn't assume I'm a woman who belittles herself before men. I'm definitely anything but the typical fifties American housewife. I just can't help but wait until everyone's served, man or not.

"A habit from finishing school am I right?" Sherlock says more than asks as if already knowing the answer. My hand pauses midair shortly before picking up the salad bowl. My face remains politely neutral, but internally I wonder how he knows that.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," I reply even though I'm sure he didn't require the confirmation. I continue to serve myself a bit of everything in small portions. Another lesson in finishing school he's most likely deducing.

"Finishing school? Oh how lovely! I wish I went when I was a girl. Learn how to dance and speak in high society," Mrs. Hudson goes on dreamily. It was not a dream but a nightmare for me. It was basically _How to be a Snob 101_ and I loathed it.

"Were your parents upset when you dropped out of uni and decided to travel instead?" Sherlock once again states rather than asks. This time I can't help but let a little surprise shine through my polite mask. He smirks seeing it which is confirmation enough for him.

"Sherlock," John says warningly. I glance at him and realize that Sherlock must do this often and on a regular basis in order to be so good at it. Probably doesn't have a filter either the way John reprimands him like it's an everyday occurrence.

What career offers that kind of training? Police is the most obvious, but I get the clear impression Sherlock doesn't play nice with others, aside from John of course. So then private detective, he is his own boss and needs no permission or forgiveness. However, that wouldn't explain why as I was leaving earlier there was a police car in front of the apartment. Clearly he wasn't thrown in jail, doesn't have black fingerprinting residue. His suit is in pristine condition so he wasn't pacing around or sitting in a cell. They were asking for his help then. Why else would they be here? No crime has been committed on this block within the past week. The only public and open investigation is the serial murders. Consulting detective. Interesting.

"No, it's quite alright Mr. Watson. How is the serial murder investigation coming along then Mr. Holmes?" I ask before taking a small sip of my wine. It's my turn to find pleasure in his skillfully hidden surprise. His eyes narrow just slightly and his lips twitch as if holding back a frown.

"How did you know?" John asks looking at me with a more obvious surprise and even greater curiosity. I politely pat my lips with a napkin trying to bide some time. How indeed? Normally people do not wonder how I deduce the things and instead get angry or annoyed which is why I rarely do it. However, Sherlock is a trying character who needs to be brought down a few pegs.

"I traveled around a lot and I just picked up the ability to read people along the way. It was essential to know who to trust…and who not to," I explain turning to look at Sherlock pointedly at the last bit. His eyes widen momentarily before relaxing in that calculating expression of his.

"Where did you travel?" John asks oblivious to the mental war going on between Sherlock and me.

"All over," I answer smiling genuinely. I love talking about my travels and adventures. "I spent a year in the states just road tripping across America. It was a completely different experience. I'll admit I favored New York and Boston mostly, but the beaches on the west coast where fantastic. America is so extraordinarily different from Europe. However, I did spend another year traveling over here. Italy shamelessly took up most of my time, but then I got here and…" I trail off realizing I had everyone's attention locked on me. I smile shyly feeling guilty for being such a blabber mouth. They've barely gotten a word in between Sherlock and me.

"What? Go on," John says urging me to continue.

"It's silly, but I just felt like the city was calling to me," I explain trying to figure out how to put it in words. "_When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford_." I quote making Mrs. Hudson and John exchange confused glances.

"Samuel Johnson, fitting," Sherlock comments clarifying what I was trying to convey. Mrs. Hudson and John nod in approval now understanding what I meant. Sometimes I forget not everyone is a literary mind, at least to my obsessive extent.

"The city is really wonderful," Mrs. Hudson agrees.

"You never answered John's question Miss Adler," Sherlock says leaning in curiously. "How did you know about the string of murders and my involvement in the case?"

"Your talent to deduce things about people is outstanding, if a bit annoying and tiresome, and it's only logical that you do something with said gift. You don't strike me as one to follow orders so being a part of Scotland Yard is out. That leaves private detective-"

"I'm not a private detective," he cuts in and I give him an annoyed look.

"I know that and if you didn't rudely interrupt and let me finish I would have said consulting detective. And before you can ask how I know that it's because earlier today while I was leaving a police car was out front. With no crime committed within a block's radius in the past week and the serial murders the only case publicized I made a deduction of my own," I clarify making everyone drop silent.

"Mrs. Hudson…there's two of them," John says looking between Sherlock and me. I scoff shaking my head disagreeing with his conclusion.

"Definitely not Mr. Watson," I say not bothering to hide my distaste at the comparison. "I'm a literary mind, a poet, not a high functioning sociopathic consulting detective."

Everyone looks at me surprised and I wonder if they ever heard someone stand up to Sherlock before. Mrs. Hudson and John glance at Sherlock apprehensively as if he's going to throw a childish fit. I wouldn't put it pass him. I have this silly thought of him reaching across the table and wrapping those long fingers of his around my neck while the other two continue to eat. I almost laugh at the thought but refrain knowing it would only make the situation even tenser.

"Miss Adler, please feel free to call me Sherlock," he says before continuing his meal. The other two share a surprised look before following his lead clearly confused on what just happened.

"Only if you call me Elena…Sherlock," I reply testing out his name on my tongue. I enjoy the sound of it more than I should, but he is a unique character.

"Very well…Elena," he says mimicking me with amusement dancing in his eyes. I spare him a small grin and then also turn back to my meal. Things definitely are going to be interesting around here.


	3. Chapter 3: Adler vs Adler

Disclaimer: I do not own anything besides my original characters.

A/N: This is what her place looks like, except no window because she's in the basement and the walls are less pink and more cream colored.

( . )

Also, shout out to FunnyGirl00's story "I Won't Send Roses" which is amazing, by the way! Check it out! Also a shout out to all those taking time to review my work! You have no idea how much I appreciate it!

Dinner with the neighbors was about a week ago and since then we haven't had much contact. Bumps in the hall and shared taxis here and there, but only brief encounters. More with John than Sherlock unfortunately. Don't get me wrong John is a great guy and we can talk about everything. He often asks me advice about his latest prospect or vents to me about Sherlock's latest obsession. With each conversation involving Sherlock, which is a lot so it's no wonder why people believe they're a couple, I get more and more fascinated with the sociopath upstairs.

My flat is finally finished. John helped me with the furniture and Mrs. Hudson helped with the decorating. I don't know how but I manage to find a place for my large collection of novels. With being such a small flat I'm only able to put up a few of my paintings, and the rest will be sent to my parents. They house a lot of my collectibles that I can't find a place for. They'll put them on display in one of my favorite art museums. I only keep a few paintings to myself and make sure the others are shown for all to see. I can't stand when a person acquires a masterpiece and selfishly hides it away.

The only painting I selfishly keep to myself is _The Starry Night over the Rhone_ which is the predecessor to its famous brother _The Starry Night._ Both created by Vincent Van Gogh, one of my favorite artists. I like to keep that painting with me no matter where I move to because it reminds me of Irene. She was a huge collector of fine things which of course is the reason now I love collecting beautiful and unique things. She always told me that a princess has valuable things, but only a true goddess knows the value of them. She was really something. I miss her.

I break out of my inner monologue when there's a knock on my door. I look away from the painting I was staring at and look at the door confused. I haven't had the time to make any friends besides my neighbors and they rarely come down just to visit. I stand up and walk over assuming that it must be Mrs. Hudson wanting to have a cuppa with me. I get up keeping my throw blanket wrapped tight around me and answer the door.

"Sherlock?" I say looking up surprised. I shift under his piercing gaze feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious wearing just my pajamas.

"Sound deduction Elena, but hopefully you're better on the field," he says making me roll my eyes.

"I wasn't expecting company-"

"Clearly-"

"And you have never stopped by before-"

"I never had a reason to-"

"Are we going to continue our conversations-"

"With you interrupting me?" He concludes sounding annoyed, but I see the corner of his lips trying to form a smile.

"That depends," I say amused.

"On?" He questions looking down at me curiously.

"Whether or not you're going to get boring soon," I reply teasingly. He scoffs looking away and I can't help but giggle at the insulted look on his face. "Awe, okay Sherlock, why are you stopping by?"

"John is visiting his sister," he says with distaste. I scrunch up my nose remembering John telling me about her one time. Sounds like a brat. Being an only child I can't help but feel jealous at her for having such an awesome older brother like John. "I need an assistant," he continues approving on my aversion for Harriet.

"I don't have medical training," I say but he waves it off with an eye roll.

"Clearly," he states making me scoff. "You don't have a diploma of any kind beyond high school. However, you do have high social skills and an understanding for people-"

"Which you lack-"

"Which would be beneficial-"

"Towards you not getting arrested again-"

"Stop-"

"That," I say making him actually groan in frustration. I smile innocently up at him, but he shakes his head. "What about your skull?"

"At this point it seems like a better companion," he snaps glaring down at me. I hold my hands up in surrender wearing a sheepish smile.

"Okay, give me a few minutes. Come in and make yourself at home," I say moving out of the way for him.

"Doubtful," he drawls walking in looking around. I roll my eyes shutting the door behind him. "It's very…bright in here," he says motioning to my striped bedspread. I laugh watching him move around as if something's going to jump out and attack him.

"Well, we all can't be conducting science experiments in our kitchen," I reply as he examines the photos and paintings I have up.

"Unfortunately," he says focusing on the pictures with me in them. I smile walking over curiously. "Who is this woman?"

"Irene, she was my nanny growing up. She left when I entered my teenage years, but she and I were very close," I explain looking at the picture fondly. It's a picture of us at a private beach in Spain splashing around in the ocean. I was only ten at the time.

"Fascinating," he mumbles focusing on her. I glance at him noticing the small frown forming on his face. The sadness in his eyes takes me by surprise.

"Did you know her?" I ask quietly. He stands back up locking his hands behind his back once more. A clear sign he's unconsciously trying to protect himself.

"No, no I did not," he says severing all chances of continuing the conversation.

"I'll be out in a moment then we can go," I say grabbing some clothes to change into. He nods and I retreat to the bathroom leaving us to our thoughts. It's obvious by his reaction that he knows her, and if I'm correct he knew her romantically. She must have really hurt him. I shake my head trying to escape my thoughts. It's none of my business and I shouldn't be intruding on his privacy.

I look in the mirror staring into my green eyes wondering what he has in store for me today. I change into a pair of tight grey skinny jeans and white dress shirt. I leave the top few buttons open revealing a teasing amount of cleavage. Not for Sherlock obviously, like he wouldn't notice anyways, but for whoever catches my eye. I slip on my favorite black boots and tuck my jeans in them. I quickly apply some makeup, nothing too extensive, just some clear gloss, black eyeliner and mascara. I pull my hair down from its messy bun and smile as it falls down to my waist in loose chestnut waves.

"Are you done yet?" Sherlock asks knocking on the door impatiently. I shake my head at the door unable to believe that I'm going to spend the day with this guy. "Stop shaking your head and hurry up, the game is on Elena," he declares making me smile.

"Alright, game time," I say opening the door. He takes a step back bumping into the wall making me give him an amused look. I rest my hands on my hips watching as he looks me up and down. I once again get that feeling that he's seeing someone else when he looks at me. Maybe Irene? He must realize what he's doing because he walks off briskly.

"Our first stop of the day is the morgue," he says grabbing my red coat from my chair.

"Why?" I ask but then realize how stupid that sounded when he gives me his signature 'I'm the smartest man alive and can't believe I have to deal with these idiots' look.

"Should I dignify that question with an answer?" He asks helping me put on my coat which I thank him for while ignoring his insult. I shiver as his cool fingers brush against the back of my neck as he carefully pulls my hair from under my coat.

"Examining a dead body, got it. Is it another from the serial murders?" I ask grabbing my purse which makes him look at me disapprovingly. "Okay, what is it now?" I ask crossing my arms annoyed.

"Typical, a designer purse, how vain-"

"I'm the vain one? In the week I've known you I've never seen you out of a suit. You never wear a tie, but that doesn't take away from the extravagance of your suit. Your hair is a mop of curls, but it's obvious by how extremely healthy it is that your shampoo and conditioner is expensive. Your skin is flawless, too perfect to be true without some product use. So whether you like to admit it or not you're just as vain, if not more so, as I am," I say looking up at him. He looks away opening my door and I almost believe he's going to leave without me.

"You continue to surprise me Elena," he says motioning for me to go first.

"It's what I live for," I reply shooting him a wink as I brush pass him making him scoff and roll his eyes. A habit of his around me I notice amused.

I head up the stairs knowing he'll lock the door behind him. With what key you ask? With the key he most likely duplicated in the event he should need me for whatever crisis he's going through. To be honest I'm surprised he just didn't walk right on in earlier.

"You never answered my question," I say following him inside St. Bartholomew. Keeping up with him was like exercising…practically impossible.

"Yes, the victims all appear to be males in their late thirties early forties. All have similar features of a medium build and dark brown hair," he says turning a corner.

"Cause of death?" I ask while dodging nurses and doctors left and right. He sighs and stops in place making me nearly crash into him. "What? It was a simple question," I say defensively.

"Arrow to the heart," he says waiting for me to catch my breath. How in the world does John keep up with this guy? Oh right, he's a military man. Well, in my defense my career involves me staying behind a laptop mostly.

"Whoa, that's unusual," I comment surprised. He looks down at me amused and I look away pouting slightly. It's my first case I'm allowed to be a little excited about it. "Which is why you took it I assume?"

"Exactly, let's continue shall we?" He asks not waiting for an answer as he walks off leaving me behind in a trail of dust. It's going to be a long day. I race after him and finally catch him just as he enters the morgue.

There's a pretty little brunette in a white lab coat standing next to a dead body taking notes. This must be Molly. I don't know why people describe her as mousey, she's so cute. She looks up surprised and smiles widely when her eyes land on Sherlock. Oh, that poor girl. Her expression falls when she sees me and I instantly feel bad. For what I have no idea.

"Oh, who's this?" She asks hesitantly as Sherlock walks over the body examining it. I shake my head realizing he's not about to introduce me. Figures.

"Excuse him," I say purposely bumping into on my way over to her. He grunts shooting me a glare, but I pointedly ignore him. "I'm Elena, his and John's new neighbor. I'm currently filling in for John and the skull," I say smiling friendlily.

"I'm Molly," she replies looking extremely relieved. "It's nice to meet you-"

"Dull-"

"Don't be rude," I scold Sherlock for interrupting her. She smiles and brushes it off making me frown slightly.

I walk over to Sherlock while Molly busies herself with paperwork. I can't help but I feel like I'm intruding somehow on her time with him. Even if he's just ignoring her while she continuously sneaks longing glances at him. It's cute, in a sad unrequited way. I look over the body scrunching up my nose a bit grossed out. However, my curiosity overpowers my gag factor as I notice the arrow hole in his chest. Fascinating. I lean in staring at it wondering what would compel a person to shoot someone else with an arrow. Why not a gun? Seems a bit overkill.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asks quietly making me jump regardless. I giggle quietly at myself and step back crossing my arms thinking. What do I think indeed?

"Whoever is doing this obviously has to be skilled with a bow and arrow the way she hits the heart directly. Judging by the similarities between the victims she has a specific target in mind. Either these are surrogates for the real person or practice warming up for the real target," I deduct thinking back to my criminology classes at Harvard. I might have dropped out but I'm not an idiot.

"Impressive," he states moving away as well. "Why do you believe it was a woman?" He asks looking at me curiously, and I bite my lip thinking about it. Truthfully I just assumed a woman was doing this, but Sherlock doesn't do well with assumptions.

"Well, besides just a hunch it's the arrow that really makes me think a woman did it. More often than not men use guns when they want someone dead. Using an arrow seems more personal, and in a twisted way reminds me of cupid. A woman seeking revenge on a scorned lover maybe," I explain looking down at the man again.

"Mhm," Sherlock says which is as good as it gets coming from him. I'm just relieved he doesn't kick me out and drag John away from his visit. I bet his skull even comes up with better responses than me.

"That would actually account for why the fingerprints left on the arrow are relatively small," Molly pipes in surprising me.

"If there's fingerprints why haven't the police brought someone in?" I ask confused ignoring Sherlock's sneer. Just believe they can't do they job doesn't mean it's true.

"The prints are always smudged so we can't even get a partial," Molly answers dejectedly.

"What have you gathered Sherlock?" I ask looking back at him as he continuously inspects the body with that small magnifying glass of his.

"Her aim is almost perfect which shows that she has an extensive background using arrows. The perpetrator is from the countryside and is very familiar with hunting judging from her use of weapon and precision. Also she comes from wealth because the arrows she uses are high quality and custom made. I can go on but we have a reservation," Sherlock elucidates smartly.

"What?" Molly and I say simultaneously causing him to raise an eyebrow at us.

"What did you not understand? It's all very apparent, but I'm not surprised how the police can miss the obvious signs-"

"Reservations, for what?" I ask cutting him off. He huffs slightly but then locks his hands behind his back making me look at him inquisitively.

"Dinner of course-"

"You don't eat while on a case-"

"I'm making an exception-"

"Why-"

"Why not-"

"Then Molly should come with us-"

"She's working-"

"Actually, I'm free," she cuts in and I look at her surprised. I almost forgot she was even here. Sherlock can be so attention grubbing.

"Perfect," I say smirking at Sherlock daring him to say otherwise. He looks extremely annoyed at the change of plans, but doesn't interject.

"I'll go grab my things," Molly says leaving excited.

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock snaps looking at me accusingly. I look back at him annoyed.

"Because it's the least you can do for her," I snap back poking his chest furiously.

"What are you talking about?" He asks rubbing the spot where I jabbed at him.

"Sherlock, _you can see through everything and everyone in seconds what's incredible though is how spectacularly ignorant you are about some things_," I answer jabbing him again.

"Stop that! Are you actually quoting John's blog _A Study in Pink_?" He asks incredulously making me smirk.

"And if I am?" I challenge leaning in cockily.

"Then you have once again surprised me," he replies leaning in as well. I take a deep breath realizing how close we are to each other. I'm looking up at him while he's looking down at me and I notice how inviting those lips of his look.

"I'm ready," Molly says walking in and I quickly take a step away while Sherlock straightens. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Sherlock and I say together.

Suffice to say I backed out of dinner coming up with a considerably lame excuse. Sherlock obviously didn't believe me but Molly practically jumped at the chance of being alone at dinner with him. She's so sweet. I really don't understand why he doesn't like her. She's pretty but not obnoxiously so, she's smart and has a career that coincides with his, and she's not unbearably annoying or anything. So why does it sound like I'm trying to convince myself more than him?

"I need a cat," I mumble to my empty flat pathetically. I wonder what they're doing. Probably talking about the latest medical discovery or whatever smart people like them discuss. I stand up heading for the fridge ready to drown myself in ice cream when there's a knock at the door. "I'll be back for you," I mumble closing the freezer and walking over to the door.

"You look very busy," Sherlock says sarcastically while walking in. I cross my arms staring at him annoyed. "What?"

"You can't just walk in here like that," I explain as if I'm talking to a five year old. Which I basically am. John told me about Sherlock shooting a smiley face he painted on the wall when he was bored.

"You were coming to answer the door anyways-"

"What if I was indecent-"

"Then why are you answering the door-"

"To get a rise out of you-"

"Doubtful-"

"Your pants disagree," I say bluffing. He glances down at his pants and shoots me a glare.

"One would think you'd be nicer to me after bringing you dinner," he comments dryly. I tilt my head looking at him confused.

"What happened to reservations? Oh, you better not have cancelled on her," I threaten pointing a finger at him.

"I didn't," he replies eyeing my finger warily. "Car crash, she was called into work," he clarifies uninterested.

"Don't sound too torn up about it-"

"I didn't know any of the causalities-"

"I meant about dinner, but that too-"

"Are you hungry or not-"

"Starved, what do you-"

"Chinese, I know a place that stays open until two," he says holding up a bag of takeaway.

"Ooh, yummy," I say taking it from him excitedly. He grins amused and pleased that he did something right…for once. "Go ahead and take a seat, I'll grab some plates and wine," I say heading over to my kitchen.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" He asks looking between my couch/bed and chairs debating which to take.

"Depends, would it work?" I ask pouring two glasses of red wine.

"Depends," he comments walking over to me.

"On?" I ask turning to him holding out a glass to him.

"Whether you'll taken advantage of me while I'm inebriated," he replies taking it from me. I take a drink hiding my smirk at the thought of a wasted Sherlock.

"Well, that depends," I answer looking up at him teasingly.

"On?" He questions before taking a rather large drink of wine.

"Whether you'll want me to or not," I respond honestly.

"Fascinating," he says leaning in a little.

"Very," I whisper leaning in as well.

"Irene," he mumbles closing his eyes.

I freeze looking up at him eyes wide. Irene? My nanny Irene? I don't understand. He said he didn't know her. He lied. He does know her. I was right after all. She must have been very special to him. She hurt him and now he's being with her vicariously through me. Why? I'm nothing like her aside a few small things. We look nothing alike and are years apart. There's nothing connecting us.

"You need to leave," I whisper pulling away from him and looking away. He opens his eyes surprised, but then reality dawns on him. He nods curtly and quickly walks out without so much as a glance behind him.

I stare blankly at the spot where he was standing wondering what the hell just happened. I was flirting with him just for fun, but then he started flirting back. In his own way, but still it was there. I'm such a silly girl. He wasn't flirting with me, he was flirting with her. I storm over to the picture of her and me at the beach. I glare at the picture hating how gorgeous she looks in her black cover up. It makes her beautiful ivory skin stand out. Her long black hair pulled up in a ponytail and her smile stretched across her face. Her womanly shape emphasized considerably.

I tear myself away from the picture and throw myself on my bed in an agitated huff. I can't believe I got myself into this mess. This is so ridiculous. I grab a pillow and childishly scream into it. Sherlock being interested in me is a joke in itself. I'm a poet and he's well…him. We would never work as anything but neighbors. We're just too different. Not that it matters since he's blatantly in love with my old nanny. Why would he like a little kid like me? Even the shy and hopelessly romantic Molly is a better match for him.

"I need a cat," I mumble into the pillow feeling tears prick my eyes. I stubbornly refuse to let them fall. "Stop it," I order them immaturely. I roll onto my back staring at the ceiling wondering why I'm letting an arse like him affect me so much anyways. "Because he's brilliant," I quietly answer myself.

It's been so long since I've met someone who can keep up with my train of thought. I mean I'm nowhere near his level, but ironically he's a mystery and I'm the detective. Case closed. He's a high functioning sociopath that uses his amazing powers of deduction to solve crime. His best and only friend is John Watson, an army doctor with more patience that God. His landlady and surrogate mother is Mrs. Hudson who is the second closest person to him. Lestrade is a friend and colleague despite Sherlock constantly insulting the inspector's intelligence. Molly another friend and means to get into the morgue, but he's never going to return her feelings. Never because he's already in love with someone else. Someone as beautiful and brilliant as he is.

Someone not who's me.

John's POV

I flip through paper wondering if Sherlock is making way on the case while I'm away. Most likely. I chuckle thinking of him lugging around that skull of his. I've received an alarming amount of text messages from him while I've been away, but that's typical for him. He never calls because he prefers to text. I swear he acts more like a teenager than any other grown man I know. I put down the paper and get up deciding it's time to retire for the night.

I head to the room I'm staying in, and prepare for bed. I grab my phone to set an alarm for the morning. I pause when I see I've gotten almost five missed calls all from the same number. I quickly dial it feeling anxious as I hear the other side pick up after a few rings.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" I ask trying to keep the panic out of my voice. There's plenty of practical reasons why he could've called me I try to convince myself.

"John…I think I made a mistake," he says after a moment of silence. I take a deep breathing trying to figure out what he could me. Then again with Sherlock one never truly knows.

"What mistake?" I ask sitting down on my bed not liking where this is going.

"Elena…I called her Irene," he mumbles and I close my eyes frustrated. How can a genius make a mistake like that?

"When?"

"A few minutes ago when I was down in her apartment," he answers miserably. I sigh hearing the pain in his voice. It's so unlike him to feel anything more than curiosity, arrogance, and the occasional frustration. If I'm not use to this side of him then he must feel awful considering it's actually happening to him.

"What did she say?"

"Get out," he mumbles making me wince. I don't know who to feel sorrier for.

"Sherlock, listen to me," I order and wait for confirmation that he's actually listening to me. Once I get it I continue, "Look under your skull and you'll find a cigarette. Go ahead. You need to clear your mind."

"I…thank you," he says before hanging up. I groan rubbing the back of my neck wondering how he managed to screw everything up. Can't he see that Elena and Irene share nothing in common besides a last name?

"So this is what happens when I leave him alone," I mutter flopping down on my bed.

Sherlock's POV

I rush over to the skull and knock it over nearly breaking it in the process. There, just as he promised, lies a glorious stick of nicotine. I pick it up tempted to light up right here in the apartment. I decide against it knowing Mrs. Hudson would throw a fit. I toss on my coat and head outside slowing slightly as I pass Elena's door. I continue on my way knowing she definitely doesn't want to see me right now. I may be handicapped when it comes to human emotions, but I'm not so oblivious to not know that I severely messed up.

I finally make it outside and look around grateful the street's bare. I pull out the cigarette and raise it to my impatient lips. I search my pockets for a lighter and growl when I come up empty.

"Need a light?"

I tense looking up and my jaw drops slightly at the sight of the person in front of me. The cigarette falls uselessly to the ground making the person tisk at me amused.

"Irene."

"Hi Sherlock, how's my little sister?"


	4. Chapter 4: Adler vs Adler part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything besides my original characters.**

**A/N: I am so so so sorry for the super long wait, but I just haven't had much inspiration for this story…until now! Haha! Please review and tell me what you think! **

"Isn't sentiment what got you into trouble the first place?" I ask plucking at my violin distractedly. I never deduced that Irene would have a sister. A sister who lives next door to me and is just as irritating. Just in a different way. So very different.

"Yes, but it's also what got me out of trouble if I remember correctly," she replies walking over with a tray of tea.

"Why are you here?" I ask ignoring the cup she's offering me. She slowly puts it down and looks at me leaning in.

"I was making my way into France when I got word that my little sister just moved into next to you," she answers placing a hand on my knee. I resist the urge to tense under her touch.

"That doesn't answer my question—"

"Doesn't it?" She counters reaching over grabbing my violin. I let her pull it away from me and replace it with herself. I lean back in my chair clutching the arm rests while she straddles my lap.

"No it does not," I say evenly making her smirk.

"Now I get to see my little sister and…you," she whispers the last part in my ear seductively.

"I assume you didn't consider the fact that neither of us want to see you," I reply coldly. She pulls away resting her hands on my shoulders and looks down at me studying my neutral expression.

I take the time to study her as well. Same ivory skin and long black hair from before. Cold calculating blue eyes and confident knowing smirk. Her style has not change even though her career has. Expensive blue dress bringing out her eyes even more. Black manicured nails slightly digging into my shoulders. How I managed to see her in the younger Adler is beyond me.

"I know you missed me," she responds peaking my interest.

"How do you deduce that?" I ask sardonically making her purse her blood red lips slightly.

"Because when you look at my little sister you see me," she whispers confidently. Her lips brushing against my neck no doubt leaving a touch of her lipstick behind. I remain silent and I can feel her smirk against me.

"I thought you didn't believe in sentiment Irene and yet here you are," I say ignoring the strain in my voice.

"And yet here we are," she corrects with a sharp nip to my ear.

I grip her waist and she purrs in approval. I stare at her for a moment longer remembering in precise detail all the moments we had together. Our first meeting. Her drugging me. Bringing me my coat. Believing she was brutally murdered on Christmas. Finding out that she was still alive. Her seeking my help. Betraying me. Betraying her. Saving her. And now.

"No, here you are," I say making her stand. She looks at me confused as I stand up putting on my coat.

"Where are you going?" She asks grabbing my arm and I look at her sharply. She quickly releases me as if I physically harmed her.

"I am giving you time because when I come back you will not be here—"

"Sherlock, please stay with me," she pleads reaching out for me but I ignore her.

"No, you don't want me, you want something from me. I do not plan on playing cat and mouse with you again," I snap letting my frustration with this situation get the best of me. I need to think and I cannot do it while she's here.

"Sherlock, don't act like you didn't like the games we played. Let's have dinner—"

"I've already eaten with your little sister," I retort before I can stop myself. Her bright blue eyes darken with fury as she glares at me. She glances around as if looking for the riding crop she hit me with before.

"I see. So that's how it is then. Big bad Sherlock Holmes falling for the sweet little lamb instead of sticking to his own kind," she drawls dramatically.

"I am not falling for anyone," I say while fixing my scarf. I need to get out of here.

"The Virgin has finally found a woman," she purrs walking towards me. I resist the urge to take a step back and instead stand firm.

"I have found no such thing," I counter while she drapes her arms around me possessively.

"She can't have you. I've already had you," she whispers while pressing herself against me.

"What's all this?"

We both turn around to find John standing at the door staring at us surprised and confused. I tear myself out of her deceivingly strong grip and straighten out my coat. She smirks fixing herself as well, and blows me a kiss before retreating. No doubt I'll see her again soon.

"Irene stopped for a visit," I explain making him laugh sarcastically. I frown at him not appreciating his reaction. "Why are you even here?"

"I came back thinking that you needed me, but apparently you've already been comforted," he snaps slamming the door. I blink at him in surprise while wondering what's gotten in him.

"…I am…at a…lost," I confess watching him cautiously. I've seen John angry and frustrated on a number of occasions, but this is different from those. I've only seen him like this when Donovan and Anderson ridicule me. So he's feeling protective? Of who? Ah, the younger Alder has captured his friendship. "Never mind, I understand now—"

"Oh really? Because I don't think you do," he replies tersely.

"You're upset because Irene is back in London and I have unintentionally hurt Elena's feelings," I answer only to earn a scoff from him. "Am I not correct?"

"Sherlock, Irene hurt you, betrayed you and you rose above it and rescued her regardless. I know that she means something to you in some way I'll never understand, but Elena is not Irene. From my experience with the two I can't find a single thing alike besides their last name. You of all people must see that," he implores staring at me.

"Obviously they are different people. The mistake I made tonight will never happen again. It was a moment of…weakness of the mind. Now if you excuse me I need time to think and refocus," I say before also taking my leave.

The Adler women are going to be the true end of me. Moriarty has nothing on them.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

Sherlock is just my neighbor. Not a romantic interest. Not a mystery waiting to be solved. Just my neighbor. That's it. I swear.

"Bugger, this is harder than I thought it was going to be," I mumble staring at myself in the mirror. It was only last night when he was here in my flat, but it feels like it's been ages.

I barely slept a wink. Too busy thinking about feelings and all that nonsense. However, some good has come from my late night thankfully. I have decided that while Sherlock has a certain charm and handsome features it's his mind that I am more interested in. Therefore, I am perfectly capable of being just friends with him without looking like Molly. I will not look like a lovesick puppy…no offense to her.

"Perfect," I say while nodding confidently. "You definitely got this," I comment cheering myself on.

I jump when there's a knock on my front door. I hold my hand over my heart trying to calm it down. Sheesh, I'm on edge. I need a girl's day just to relax and refocus. I didn't come here for some silly romance. I came here for the city. To write. To make friends. That's it.

I snap out of my inner musings when there's another knock on my door. I rush over feeling slightly guilty for leaving the person waiting. I nervously pause in front of it wondering if it might be Sherlock, but quickly squash that thought. So what if it is him? I can't avoid him forever. Besides he wouldn't be coming down here anytime soon, especially after what happened. I smile convinced that it's not him and answer the door without another delay.

"Sherlock," I gasp out surprised. "I wasn't expecting you," I continue trying to recollect my racing thoughts.

"I know. I have come here to…apologize for last night," he replies awkwardly. My face heats up at the mention of last night humiliation. "I did know Irene for a brief time, but in those few moments she left quite an impression. I am sorry for my…blunder. I fully understand that you both are completely different people. Last night I was a victim of…sentiment. You see I haven't seen her in quite some time and it was a shock finding out that you are…acquainted with her as well. Regardless I apologize Elena."

I stare at him for a long time replaying his words over and over in my head. He seems very genuine and even embarrassed. He had the balls to come down and face me. We barely know each other after all so maybe I was exaggerating my feelings for him. Just latching on to the first similar soul I found in the massive city. Perfectly understandable. He shifts slightly and I realize that he's waiting for a response from me.

"Small world," I mumble offhandedly. He nods hesitantly and I relax knowing that I really am being a bit unreasonable. "Sherlock, don't worry about it. Honestly, I think this saved us a lot of trouble—"

"I am a lost once again," he interrupts making me sigh.

"We saw each other as a challenge and a puzzle. We weren't really interested in each other. If we continued whatever we were doing it would have only ended badly. At least now we can be…friends?" I explain ignoring the way my heart clenches annoyingly in my chest.

"Friends…yes, that would be fine," he says after a long moment of silence. He nods slightly before heading back up the stairs. I sigh once more and go to close my door, but stop when he pauses halfway up. "Aren't you coming?"

"Where?" I ask while looking up at him confused. He scoffs and walks back down looking like I've caused him this big inconvenience.

"I have a lead on the case, and John is still with his sister. I would not mind your company…unless of course I should instead consult my skull," he comments making me laugh quietly.

"Let me grab my coat," I reply shaking my head amused.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

I watch my younger sister get into a taxi with my Sherlock Holmes. I love my sister and want her to be protected and cared for, but did she have to go after what's mine? Clearly, she has to learn another lesson about pretty and unique possessions.

"Have fun with him now dearest Elena because we'll see who he picks when I come back to London. History always has a tendency to repeat itself, and history is in my favor," I whisper while watching the taxi drive off. The game is indeed afoot.

**I know it's short, but it was a perfect place to stop. Please review and tell me what you all are thinking!**


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